


Fable

by LaFayVerte



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Arya is not okay, Arya's quite the charmer, Ebon is still an awesome word, F/M, Jon is a pretty boy, Nymeria and Ghost are in this because I have enough budget, Prompt Fill, Second person POV, Sleeping Beauty Elements, Winter has been around for a while, and you know it, assumes 5 year gap happened
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2019-06-14 01:26:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15377661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaFayVerte/pseuds/LaFayVerte
Summary: "You are a training in the Iron Bank of Braavos when you hear what happened to your prince.‘A curse’ you hear the the boy whisper in the keyholder’s ear ‘the dragon queen’s nephew has been struck with a deadly curse’ "Jonrya SleepingBeauty!AU





	Fable

**Author's Note:**

> This is a prompt fill from the ASOIAF rare pair blog, they have a lot of cool stuff if you guys wanna check them out. 
> 
> Please enjoy =D

You are a training in the Iron Bank of Braavos when you hear what happened to your prince.

‘A curse’ you hear the the boy whisper in the keyholder’s ear ‘the dragon queen’s nephew has been struck with a deadly curse’

Your clasp your hands together to stop them from trembling as you hear what his _brothers_ did to him, his _chosen_ pack who were supposed to treat him as an equal, never as some traitorous bastard.

 _I’ll kill them all._ The words ring in your head as you run straight to the House of Black and White, your hands are still shaking with righteous fury as you flip the stone that you’ve burned into your memory. _They will pay, every last one of them._

The prince’s gift is missing.

Your heart squeezes in your chest as you realize what this means, that there is someone inside the temple that has it, that if you want to leave No One’s shadow there will be no sneaking and a quiet escape. You will have to run the gauntlet barefoot on an open fire.

You do not bother to think twice. _A man who fears losing has already lost._ They have taken a part of you hostage for long enough. And if you’ve learned anything in your time here (truth be told if you’ve learned anything in your entire life) it’s that _anyone_ can be hunted if only someone starts the hunt.

Death comes for all, even No One, _and so will you._

The faceless men expect you to use everything they’ve taught you, subtlety, stealth and deception. So instead you do everything the other way around, after all what is the use of whispered secrets or poisoned drinks when your target is walking around in broad daylight, undisguised and unprotected?

It works even better than you thought, for someone who claims to be No One the waif’s bitterness had gotten the best of her and made her forget that _she_ might be the one being hounded. You end up with a gash in your stomach that you have to seal with a red hot dagger and a pain so agonizing that you could swear that stars exploded under your eyelids.

But still it’s all worth it when you walk out of the place that has been your home and prison for the past five years with your _Needle_ at hand and enough coin to buy a place on the only ship headed to Westeros.

You are no longer No One.

* * *

Winter has truly come and settled in the land you once called _home_ . The nights stretch on for what seems like an eternity in comparison to the short mornings and everything is covered in snow and dread and decay. Where there was once lush greenery intertwined with the stench of war, there are even more charred castles and withered life. You follow the caravans carrying goods from the ship until you reach an inn and there you see an old friend, he looks healthy and happy despite all the horrors he’s seen. Tears prickle the corners of your eyes because he looks _alive_ and _familiar_ and unlike anything you’ve seen in a long, _long_ time.

‘Arry!’ he calls in a voice that warms your soul ‘you’re pretty’ he tells you as he lays down some food for you, it almost arrests you before you shake your head and graciously smile, every grown woman gets told that she’s pretty and you’re not the exception to that rule no matter how you really look.

Hot Pie makes things a lot clearer than that boy from the Iron Bank, apparently there were rumors that your prince had died, but they couldn’t be true because he took back Winterfell from the man who terrorized and defiled his _little sister._ He became a king before the dragon queen settled in, and then he gave up his seat for a betrothal to the woman who was discovered to be his aunt and became a prince once more.

You mind whirls with a thousand thoughts and emotions: Relief that your prince never died, jealousy you toward this foreign queen with the lovely face, pride that he showed everyone that he is worthy enough to be declared a king and that he is not the soulless bastard everyone decided that he was, hurt because of how much _he_ probably hurt when he discovered that he’s a dragon too, and an inexplicable rush of giddiness that he took back Winterfell for _you._

But out of all of these there is one feeling that cuts through your thoughts like a knife ‘What of the curse?’ worry gnaws at your lungs.

Your friend shakes his head, and says that you prince was cursed by a frozen king beyond the Wall. He rests in an endless slumber in the red castle in the south, guarded by the queen’s dragons against any intruders. No one knows if he will ever wake again, or if these are simply his last moments.

You must see him. You must see him. **You must see him.**

 _I am no intruder._ You assure yourself as you start the trek to the south. _And if I am then I’ll stick my needle right through the dragon’s heart._

Your journey is not an easy one, winter has made resources even scarcer than it was the last time you were in these lands. And more often than not, you find yourself hiding from bandits and cutthroats who are more likely to rape and kill you than simply steal and walk away. Horses are a luxury that you can’t afford to care for when you can barely feed yourself, and you almost get utterly lost for a couple of times in a snowstorm before you finally find a cave where you can rest your tired, calloused feet and attempt to start a fire.

Then a fucking cave bear wakes up, a massive angry thing that really has no business waking up when your were being quieter than even a shadow.

You half sprint, half stumble out of the cave. All your belongings forgotten but for the Needle strapped to your hip and the boots on your feet, the roar of the bear catching onto you at an alarming speed urges you to roll down the hill and straight onto a frozen lake, Luckily enough, the ice is too thin for it and the bear falls right through. It’s unlucky for you however, that the ice cracks far enough that you find yourself plunged into frozen water.

 _The cold burns._ The thought seems so silly to you, who was always more affected by the heat. But the truth is that it _does_ burn, your lungs, your muscles and every inch of your skin feels like they’ve been dipped in wildfire. You try to kick your legs up but they don’t seem to want to obey, when you try to open your eyes they end up burning even more, you suppose it doesn’t matter, it’s too dark to see anything anyway and you will die here before you reach your prince.

 _Nymeria._ You reach out for the she-wolf, and suddenly you _are_ the she-wolf. Strong and fierce and unbothered by the cold around you. Your heart flutters with her own when you find out that she’s been following you for some time, making sure you always found prey to hunt and a safe place to rest, well up until now that is.

She is still hurt by your rejection from a long time ago, but at least she understands why you did it and helps you drag your floating body out of the water. The two of you take your body back to empty cave next to the fire you’ve started before the bear attacked. And just like that, you come back to yourself. You’re a shivering mess but between Nymeria’s thick fur and the warm sheltered fire, you’re sure that you’ll survive the night.

Your eyes drift shut and for the longest time since forever, you feel a smile stretch across your lips despite your best efforts to control it. And you allow yourself to indulge in happier memories, just for once. Thoughts of your father and brothers, and even of your sister and mother trickle into your mind. They are filled with comfort and happiness and a tenderness that seeps into your bones, and amidst them the shining memory of your prince’s smile stays with you through the night. That same unburdened smile that he only gave to _you_ because only you knew how to draw it out.

Winter will not stop you, it might have stopped Arry the orphan boy, or Lumpyhead, or Weasel. _But not you,_ not when the wolf blood sings in your veins and not when your forefathers were its kings.

Somehow, some way, you _will_ break this curse.

 _Just you wait for me_ . You pray that somehow he could hear your thoughts. _Don’t you dare give up before I reach you!_

* * *

By the time you arrive in king’s landing, you are near passing out from exhaustion. Considering that the wolf pack had made the trip much, _much_ easier than it would have been, your heart truly goes out to the people who have to face winter alone.

The city is in shambles, with many parts of it either half-burnt or completely ruined. Still, there’s at least more food in here than out on the road. Not to mention that now Nymeria won’t have to take care of you all the time. You push your aching body towards the blood red Keep, not wanting to rest when your prince is just beyond reach.

You still have enough energy to manage sneaking inside unnoticed, you’d announce yourself but truth be told there’s no proof that you’re who you say you are and you’d rather not bother with the hassle, not when your prince is counting on you. It takes a good part of the day spent in anxious searching and looking over your shoulder as you try to catch the strings of random conversation and gather where your prince is. The castle looks so painfully familiar that you half expect your lord father to round the next corner and gently chide you for sneaking around. But it matters not if you have to stomp down the urge to turn around and flee straight back to Braavos. _He is more than worth it._ Of that you are certain.

Finally, you enter the maidenvault.

Your heart stops beating for just a second.

Your prince is lying on a featherbed, his face looks older, more gaunt and scarred than you’ve ever seen it. But no less perfect, in a way you _prefer_ it like this. A reminder that your own scars will not scare him away. Like it has always been, it seems he still matches you.

Wiping your dirty hand on your even dirtier tunic, you make your way to him and dare to touch his cheek. He is cold to the touch, _too cold._ Like a slab of marble that was left outside in the snow for too long. It’s so wrong and so unlike your lovely prince that your hand starts to shiver again, but you remind yourself that at least he doesn’t look too pale or waxy. _Yes_. You’ve seen enough corpses to at least take solace in the fact that he doesn’t look like one.

The door slams open behind you and suddenly your world is drowned in a flurry of white as a too eager direwolf who is definitely larger than you tackles you to the ground, and proceeds to shower you with an unstoppable onslaught of excited licks and eager tail wags. You find yourself giggling like a little girl again as you greet your prince’s wolf back with plenty of hugs and pets and kisses, especially when he seems to be utterly enjoying the attention you’re giving him.

You’re so overtaken with happiness that if you weren’t a trained assassin, you probably wouldn’t have even noticed the person who followed Ghost inside the room. The imp stands next to the door, eyes wide and brows raised. And you stand tall as he takes you in, lifting your chin for good measure. Because intruder or not, no Lannister will _ever_ make you cower.

 _‘You’re_ alive?’ he breathes in awe as he looks at you in a mixture of shock and something else that makes you shift in your place ‘How in the…?’

‘What happened to him?’ you demand as only a high lady could, with your voice ringing loud and clear and you shoulders squared. He looks taken aback and it doesn’t surprise you, your father was a quiet, gentle man and your sister was no different. You on the other hand had to to learn how to temper your fire, and right now your prince needs you to act quickly.

The imp escorts you to his solar and discreetly takes notice when the white wolf follows the two of you. The food is nice and warm and better than anything else you’ve tasted for the last three moons, the hand of the queen watches you eat in equal parts fascination and disbelief. _Well, at least I won’t have to prove who I am._

‘You look like your father’ he pours you some wine ‘although I don’t recall him being this charming.’

He at least looks properly shamed by the dirty look you give him ‘ I apologize, that was uncalled for’ he takes his own cup and downs in all in one gulp ‘Ned Stark was an honorable man, he… he did not deserve what my family did to him.’

‘You forced my sister to _marry you_ ’ you nearly spit out the words at him, barely stopping yourself from saying the words _rape_ and _assault_ because you still need the man to help you save your prince. It still doesn’t deter you from mentally reviewing the best poisons you can disguise in his wine later.

‘I never touched her’ he holds up his hands placatingly ‘ I swear to you I’ve never harmed her!’

‘I believe you...’ you let your voice soften because as much as you hate it, Tyrion Lannister is telling the truth

Apparently the imp isn’t nearly as difficult to confound as you were led to believe, for he looks caught off guard for the second time since you’ve met him. You suppose it's a small wonder considering that _you_ of all people are offering him an olive branch, but for your prince you would kiss Joffrey Baratheon himself on the mouth.

He tells you stories that make the horrors you’ve already seen look like child’s play, about dead men walking and the evil things that winter brings with it. Just like the Old Nan’s strange tales, but infinitely more nightmarish. _Oh My poor prince._ You wonder about the kind of things he had seen while you were apart, and feel the sadness fill you to the brim.

He was only a boy who wanted to prove his worth to those heartless idiots, and they’ve saddled him with the protection of every man, woman and child in this land.

You ask about the curse again, fully aware that he’s avoiding the subject and when he answers you find out why. Your prince’s curse came from the ice king himself, and so far there was only once thing that can fight his magic.

Dragons.

Lord Lannister explains that the best maesters have already tried every conceivable thing with they could do with dragon glass and it didn’t work. Half of them thinks that your prince is eternally sleeping while the the other half insists that he’s living on borrowed time, that if he does not wake up soon…

‘What of the dragons?’ You push down your panic and remind yourself that it doesn’t matter because he is going to be fine, he _has_ to _._

‘The queen took the biggest one to the North to continue her fight’ his eyes roam over your face, scouting for the signs you’ve learned to hide so well ‘the other is here protecting her betrothed’

‘Your ladyship might find this shocking but no one seems to be keen on approaching it’ You sip on your wine as he cracks a jesting smile ‘if you’re willing to collect some samples from a fire-breathing beast yourself, then please be my guest.’

The smile dies on his lips when you nod your approval, the gears already turning in your head on how you could manage to do it. It could be easy to set a trap for the dragon, after all it’s just a big animal at the end of the day, and when direct confrontations are inadvisable nothing works better than an ambush. Or if you’re quick and careful enough, then it’s possible that you could get everything you need unnoticed with only a simple distraction.

The poor man tries his hardest to talk you out of it, he warns you that no knights can be spared to aid you, that only a fool would push their luck with a dragon. And when that doesn’t work he says that the maesters have already tried to grind the old dragon bones in the Keep and use them so your fool’s errand is most likely useless.

‘The maesters are searching for other options as we speak’ his voice is reassuring, and he does a truly admirable job at hiding his lack of faith in their skill ‘they’ll find something, I’m sure of it.’

You know that _you know_ better than this. That being reckless is only going to get you in trouble.

And yet.

Some things must be done no matter how reckless or unwise, they cannot wait and they cannot be pondered upon. If even little Nan of Harrenhal could to take a risk to save herself, then how could you refuse to do the same for your prince.

You smile at the man next to you, and feel a pang of guilt at the relief in his mismatched eyes.

* * *

 

That night you sneak into the dragon pit while the beast is asleep, on your shoulders you carry the carcass of a sheep and place it in front of the green giant just in case you wake it up and with the lightest steps you can manage, you make your way to the dragon’s back as far away from its face and claws as possible.

Hearing about dragons is one thing, but actually _seeing_ one is another matter entirely. No matter how much you used to imagine riding them, in all your life you would have never grasped how intimidating they really are, with the light reflecting off of their scales and spikes and _angry_ features (or the fact that their smallest claw was almost as tall as you). Every little move and sound the sleeping creature makes screams of _murder_ in way that sends the hairs on your nape upwards as your heart pumps pure terror to every inch of your body.

Quiet as a shadow, you take out the glass bottles you’ve cleaned before. You need Blood, scales and spit. The maesters have already tried the bones and horns and you don’t think that you can get away with getting anything else. Slowly, you slide the knife out of your belt and gently scrape it against the scales for a good ten minutes…

And nothing happens.

You wipe the sweat off your forehead, the scales are too hard to be taken off without any pain. Not that you weren’t expecting to cut the green dragon, but these were _supposed_ to be the easy part. With a deep breath you gather your courage and and draw your Needle, ready to poke the beast just a little.

But before you manage to do anything the dragon wakes and rounds on you with a quickness that should never belong to such a giant creature. Its wings crack in warning as it unleashes a furious roar that rattles your already trembling bones. Suddenly a primal fear takes over you and without thinking at all, you feel as if an axe had split your head in two as your vision becomes torn between staring at the beast’s glistening teeth, and between staring down at your own tiny body.

Being inside a dragon’s mind is maddening.

With Nymeria it felt almost as of you had merely changed shapes, the little cat back in Braavos felt like you were simply sharing space with an wary host. _This_ however, feels like you are thrust in the middle of a fire tornado but somehow even more overwhelming, as if all the chaos in the world is bottled inside of you. You instantly understand that in a dragon’s thoughts there is only dominion and little else. It thrashes you inside it’s own mind so violently that you feel like a rag doll being thrown against the wall over and over again.

Somewhere in the distance you can barely hear a woman’s shriek.

 _Fear cuts deeper than swords._ You chant to yourself as you try to stand your ground against the growing storm, to somehow regain your senses and rally your strength. You fumble to reach for the girl in front of the creature again, and remind yourself that looking a dragon in the mouth isn’t the worst thing in the world. After all the last time you did it felt like the dragons were your old friends.

 _The dragon had no equals._ You hear the beast hiss at you, and the image of a silver haired beauty flashes in your head. _Only a dragon could hope to stand in front of another dragon._

Those demeaning words somehow give you more strength and courage than all of you lessons combined, because this arrogant _lying_ dragon doesn’t know shit, and if it wants to keep you from returning to your body then so be it. Your mind is stronger than a stupid animal’s anyway.

The near-frenzied beast bristles at your defiance but you couldn’t care less, it had already made the mistake of dispelling it’s almighty presence when it proved how ignorant it is.

 _My best friend is a dragon_ . You shout right back as the gale around you flares with untamed rage, you hold onto memories of another dragon mussing your hair before carrying you on his shoulders and running while you shrieked with delight, of the dragon who whispered all his vulnerabilities and weaknesses to you and let you do the same to him. _He has always been my equal._ The dragon in your mind has a face that mirrors your own from your muted stony eyes to your long sullen face, he never disrespected you with protective lies or treated you with cruelty like the one in front of you, just like you never thought any less of him for being different, the idea that he would one day sit above or beneath you is so ridiculous that you would chuckled if you could feel your lungs. _And he always will be._

A rush of affection spills out from you at the thought of your prince, unbidden.

The storm immediately stills and you feel a third presence at the back of your mind, faint and soft, like a glowing firefly.

 _Little sister_ . the dragon hums. _Rhaegal._

And just like that you are propelled back into your own mind, the winter cold bites your skin with such a stark contrast against the heat from before that you stiffen for a second. When you look up, you see the dragon quietly sitting and looking back at you with interest. _What a lonely thing you are._ Behind it you see the hand of the queen and a flurry of guards watching the entire scene, cautious spears ready in hand.

You clear your aching throat as you dust off the little crown of snow that had drifted onto your hair, then you proceed to collect everything you need without much hassle. The dragon doesn’t even attempt to hiss at you this time, and you think to yourself that perhaps the beast finally understands who exactly needs the help.

When you bring the specimens back to Tyrion Lannister, he absentmindedly accepts the offering and walks away while mumbling something about ‘stubborn honor’ and ‘idiots who don’t know when to run’. Personally you don’t disagree, but as long as your prince gets his medicine then you’ll happily be the biggest twit in Westeros.

‘Only Daenerys Stormborn has gotten this close to the big monster.’ you hear one of the spearmen tell his comrade in a foreign language ‘she must be a witch or a priestess’

You smile because they do not understand at all, just like Rhaegal didn’t at first. Because yes, in many ways you’re still just a little, squishy girl. Certainly not a dragon, with sinuous muscle and fire pillars for breath and wings that can take you above the everyone else. Or a fearsome queen with the power to walk through fire unscathed, bring back to life what had turned to stone and raze cities with the flick of your wrist.

But even so, you are still _pack._

* * *

 

There are maesters, healers and priests from all over the world tending to your prince. They fuss and fawn over the new materials you’ve brought them with hope twinkling in their eyes, and for the first time since you heard about the curse you feel as if things are finally going your way.

One of them in particular makes an effort to introduce himself to you, he used to be a brother of the Night’s Watch and is apparently exceptionally talented at healing, having found a cure for greyscale after only a brief period of time at the Citadel. The man still looks as kind as you remember and just as lacking in confidence. He doesn’t seem to recognize you from back when you met him in Braavos, but then again you didn’t really expect him to remember a clam seller that he saw once five years ago. Especially when the woman standing in front of him now has the title of ‘northern princess’, courtesy of your older sister’s terms of submission.

(The title leaves a bad taste in your mouth, and you ask everyone you see to call you something else.)

The Maester tells you that you look just like your prince and that he used to carry your memory in his heart wherever he went. He smiles indulgently at you and says that you’re just as pretty as your prince said you were. The man is so sincere that you immediately decide that you like him, his tone reveals that he was very close to your prince and the way he tells you things so openly encourages you to ask him all sorts of questions about your time apart.

You hear tales of wights and the harsh winter, but also tales of wildings and of a woman with hair kissed by fire. Understanding dawns on you with every new tidbit of information: Your prince had loved this woman and even broke his vows for her. The same man who left for the Wall in the first place so he can prove how honorable he is.

For some reason you feel a painful lump in your throat.

‘He abandoned his duty for her?’ You fight off the sudden urge to go upstairs and try to wake your prince with a solid throttle.

‘It’s true that he broke his vows, but in the end he chose duty over her’ a sad smile works its way across the man’s face ‘he only truly abandoned his duty once, and he would have been dead for it as we speak if it weren’t for the red woman’

 _That_ catches your attention, you listen to every little detail that dribbles from the maester’s mouth. And the pain in your throat becomes infinitely worse when you find out that your prince _did_ die, stabbed by his own brothers for wanting to break every rule of the Night's Watch only to be brought back to life. _Stupid stupid_ **_stupid!_ **

‘Why would he do it?’ your voice comes out hoarse and a thin sheen of moisture clouds your vision ‘Why would be sully his honor when he didn’t before, even after his own father and brother were killed? Why would he disgrace the Night’s watch so badly that they wanted him dead?’

The man squirms in his place as his eyes dart around, and you can practically hear him debating with himself on whether to share this apparently sensitive piece of information or not. Finally with one last look over his shoulder, he leans closer and whispers the reason in your ear.

He abandoned his duty for _you_.

He was allowing the men under his command to do so as well for _you_.

He died for _you_.

Because he thought _you_ needed him to save you. Because even if he hides it from the world, what _you_ are to him is so much more than a lover or a sibling. Because he...Because...

You run to your prince’s chambers and huddle with Ghost in a corner for the night.

Everything’s a mess.

* * *

The days turn into weeks, and the weeks turn into moons.

Your prince does not die, but he does not wake either. Even after getting everything the maesters needed and indulging every kind of priest there is, your prince does not wake.

By now Nymeria has settled down in the castle where she keeps you company along with Ghost. You mostly sit next to your prince and try to keep him as much company as you can manage. It’s only when a letter arrives from your sister that the despair you’ve barely been keeping at bay leaks through the cracks.

 _Come home_ . She demands. _If you are truly my sister then you will come back to Winterfell._

That’s when the first sob you’ve let out in years tears its way out of your chest, because you miss home. You miss you sister and your brother and you miss Winterfell. But most of all you miss your prince.

Your prince, for whom you’ve crossed the world and crawled out of your hiding on a bleeding belly. Your prince, for whom you’ve stumbled, cold and hungry, across a desolate frozen waste for moons on end. You prince, for whom you faced unspeakable perils from your gut-wrenching memories of this castle to butting heads with one the only two dragons left in the world.

Your poor prince, who even after all he went through is going end up dying in his sleep. Because this world is wretched, and always was, and always will be.

You look at the letter one last time, before you tear it to shreds.

Sansa should have known that you would never leave his side come what may. You make your way across the room and sit on the edge of the bed next to him, the shredded letter falls to the floor as your fingers graze his fine features and play with the beard you’ve trimmed just yesterday. And in the stillness of this peaceful moment, you finally come to accept the feelings that you’ve been struggling with from the moment you’ve come to recognize what they could mean. The very feelings that you used to plaster on Arya Stark back when you were No One so you wouldn't have to confront them.

You were _so_ terrified of what it could mean, for a girl to love her brother like one loves their prince. But in the clarity of this moment, you realise that your love for the sleeping man in front of you is not defined by a shape or form. You do not really think of him as just a brother, or a friend, or a prince, or even a pack member. He is all of these things and none of them at the same time.

To you he’s just _Jon_ , and you _Arya_.

‘I love you’ you murmur to him and bring your lips to his forehead. _I don’t regret coming here, even if it kills me to see you like this._ ‘I love you’ you whisper against his cheek and kiss him there too. _If I have to do it again, I would gladly do it a thousand times over._ Love is sacrifice, and truth be told there is very little that you wouldn’t give for Jon. _You can have anything of mine if you’ll come back to me, and even if you don’t. I’ll stay by your side until I’m old and grey._

‘I love you’ you pour all of your emotions into a kiss that you press to his lips.

Your heart does a little flip when you feel his lips moving against yours, and much to your joy you feel his arm encircle your waist and drag you until you’re straddling him while the other holds you head still by the nape ‘Arya.’ He rests his forehead against you own as he breathes out your name in reverence and relief, like a worshipper who had been away from the sept for too long. You let out a breathy laugh because your stomach is fluttering with delight at the way his gentle grey eyes drink you in, and his own watery chuckle feels like music to your ears.

‘What took you so long?’ his shaking hands are conflicted between mussing your hair and smoothing it out, and his fingers end up tangled between your locks. You open your mouth to answer but he doesn’t let you ‘I’ve missed _so_ dearly...’

‘Jon’ you whisper against his ear as you hold him close and let him kiss you again, there are tears on your face that fell from his eyes and your own. But they are lost between his _I love you_ s and _Thank the gods_ and your own replies and the way your heart, body and mind seem to reverberate with elation.

At last you are home.

Jon Snow’s curse is finally broken, and Arya Stark’s as well.

**_~End~_ **

**Author's Note:**

> Please excuse any mistakes as English isn't my native language. But please feel free to point them and I'll get on it!


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